Page 93 of Unbossly Manners

“How are you?” he asked, his face folded in genuine concern.

I held my iPad in my lap. I wasn’t sure if this was work or personal business. We’d texted back and forth after the night of the party, but nothing beyond wellness check-ins and niceties. I hadn’t thought much about him, which was telling.

“Good. Better.”

His hand rubbed his forehead. “I wanted to apologize. Again. For what happened. It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t,” I said. “I don’t blame you.”

He shook his head and looked out his window at the mid-day traffic.

“I don’t know what happened. We’ve never had anything like this occur.”

“Has Analise spoken to you?” I asked. “Or Jackson.”

He swung his gaze back to me. “Oh shit. Jackson. How is he? I spoke to him yesterday… you were there. Was it bad? He’s acting like it’s just a few bumps and bruises.”

Images of the accident came back in a rush—the crash site, the blood, the shoes. Those fucking shoes wrecked me every time I thought of them. I sucked in several breaths, reigning in my distress, embarrassed by my lack of control over my emotions.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.” Derrick’s face displayed concern.

I’d buried myself in work, but what I really wanted was to bury myself in bed for a week and watch sappy movies and cry it out.

“It’s okay. That’s been happening a lot lately. The accident really shook me.”

I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and he handed me a tissue, which I crumpled and dabbed under my nose.

“I… it was intense.” I folded the tissue over and wiped my wet cheeks. “The last time I experienced that kind of fear was when I got the call about my dad.”

“I didn’t realize the accident had been that bad.” Derrick rolled his chair next to mine, his eyes soft.

“There was so much blood. Jackson banged his head on the metal rail and it split his brow open. He needed stitches and he had a concussion, but that was the worst of it. He also has bruised ribs and a sprained wrist.”

Derrick’s eyes widened in surprise. “That sounds serious.”

I shrugged. “It’s better than dead.”

Derrick nodded gravely and put his hand on my shoulder. Something about his reassuring hand broke me. My shoulders collapsed into themselves, and I began to heave. Derrick wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I buried my face into his chest.

“The whole thing was messed up.” I sniffled into his shirt, my tears wetting the fabric.

“I bet.”

“You’ve seen so much more,” I said. I couldn’t imagine the horrors he’d experienced.

“That doesn’t lessen what you went through.”

“I didn’t go through anything,” I blubbered.

Derrick breathed out heavily like something was weighing on his mind. “Can I ask you something?”

I smashed the tissue into my eyes, drying them, then bawled up the tissue and stuck it in my jean pocket.

“Sure.”

“Are you in love with him?”

I slammed my back against the chair, my eyes wide. “No. No way. Not at all.”

---